


dissection

by izayas



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Love/Hate, M/M, Romance, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izayas/pseuds/izayas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in high school, he dissected frogs. now orihara izaya uses the same procedure to pick apart his relationship with heiwajima shizuo, find where the line of fucking to sleeping together was crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dissection

**_i. the fuck._ **

First things were first, and Izaya found himself thrown carelessly onto a mattress with his legs forced apart. It had been a freezing wintry day and Shizuo, hot tempered as ever, mixed casual conversation with an angry dispute. Shizuo had pulled him into his apartment just as he was about to punch him, leaving Izaya so surprised he even stuttered.

_"Shizu-chan... you're living proof that idiots do get sick..."_

Cool fingers undid Shizuo's own belt and moved to Izaya's afterwards. He made no attempt to stop Shizuo, just laid on his back obediently and watched the way Shizuo's brow furrowed in irritation. He was muttering under his breath and Izaya could just make out 'goddamn flea.' Yet, Izaya wanted to drawl that he hadn't done anything to induce this; wasn't it all Shizuo's fault?

Izaya winced as his legs were pushed back almost further than he could take, pants and boxers having been long discarded. His slender legs had been draped over Shizuo's broad shoulders until he reached a hand up, muttered 'wait' and adjusted himself so they rested around his waist. Izaya frowned, palm shoved to the fabric of Shizuo’s shirt, feeling an annoyed glare cast upon him.

His eyes flit upwards at the first, slight moment of relaxation. Izaya's lips parted to sound a single word, a single syllable, cutting crisply through the silence.

_"Go."_

Shizuo hadn't taken any of his clothes off. He'd only undone his pants while Izaya's coat and shirt remained on his body. Hissing at the pain that followed, Izaya had to threaten Shizuo with the knife in his coat pocket to stay still. He received a grunt in response but, to his relief, Shizuo did stay still. Izaya shifted a bit to see if it would help, but that sent only a new wave of pain ricocheting up his spine. The cool lubricant helped a bit, but only  _minutely_ ; taking a deep breath, Izaya exhaled and tried to relax. But relaxing was hard to do when he was lying under the strongest man in Ikebukuro, half naked and definitely at one of his most vulnerable moments.

Izaya didn't say anything, but Shizuo began moving on his own. He winced at the first thrust; it was long and slow, leaving Izaya unsure if it was meant to tease or ease him into the sensation. His next breath was shuddered and it likely wasn't coincidental that when his brow stopped furrowing, Shizuo's hips began to move faster and harder.

Silence.

Grunts.

Muffled swears.

That was the first time they fucked, and Izaya was told to leave immediately afterwards.

**_ii. pillows._ **

It became something of a normal routine: meeting up by chance, fighting, sex. It was always Shizuo's apartment--for the sheer fact that Izaya was the one that traveled to Ikebukuro to irritate him--and neither of them minded. Shizuo never asked about Izaya's apartment and Izaya never brought it up. He soon knew that Shizuo kept a key under his doormat (Izaya was going to retort that Shizuo would easily be burglarized that day, but two trips to his apartment were all it took for him to realize there was nothing worth stealing) and became grateful that Shizuo had only a mattress for his bed and not a frame that could break.

No one saw. Shizuo’s apartment building was nearly empty; inhabitants were either holed up all the time or fate was on their side.

Fate had never been on Izaya’s side before.

It was about the seventh time, Izaya thought. Shirt and jacket still on him and the entire bartender uniform on Shizuo's body, Izaya had been anticipating the feeling of fingers pressing to him and slight discomfort, when a hand pulled his upper body up, then letting him fall to a new softness under him. A small puff of air disturbed his hair and he was still for a moment, registering the feeling.

A pillow.

Vermilion eyes were surprised but the 'what's this for?' was lost as pain laced pleasure wrapped around his spine and he hissed, eyes screwing shut. Shizuo knew to stay still and let him adjust at this point, and it suddenly became clear that the pillow was meant for his comfort, gratitude that he wouldn't voice. He wondered what it meant, as Shizuo fucked him; he laid beneath him and was glad for the added elevation, giving his body less strain.

What did it mean?

 _Don’t tell me…_ he’d begin to wonder and he could almost _laugh_ at the very thought he nearly couldn’t bring himself to finish formulating.

But whenever Izaya opened his eyes, he'd see a cold look granted to him, Shizuo looking almost disgusted--the way Izaya would. And when he'd begin to move, Izaya would close his eyes, let a smirk stay on his lips as long as possible. Shizuo’s body meeting his was always rhythmic to begin with before pleasure took over and it was wild, ravishing, encompassing and despite everything, there were two constants:

The pleasure.

And his cold, hard look.

_You're disgusted by this too, huh, Shizu-chan?_

**_iii. bareness._ **

Gradually, so much so that Izaya hardly noticed it, he began to be stripped.

Hands no longer worked only on his belt and began to take his coat off. First it was on the eleventh time. Then the fourteenth, fifteenth, seventeenth... then not until the twenty-sixth. Izaya kept track every time and noticed that Shizuo's bowtie began to slip off of his neck and the buttons of his vest came undone. Soon, Izaya's eyes had bare skin to look at and for his hands to feel, knees on either side of an exposed waist. Shizuo’s rough fingers brushed against the soft flesh of the inside of his thigh and Izaya marveled at a single long scar etched across Shizuo’s chest.

The first time his shirt was taken off was the thirty-fourth time and the first time they were both nude was the forty-seventh. He could still remember how Shizuo's sheets felt scratchy against his back and there was a contrast that intensified between the chill of an open window and the warmth of their bodies. Clothes had dulled that sensation, but Izaya didn't mind the extremities.

Something changed with the nudity, he thought numbly. Something had definitely changed. It wasn’t anything too noticeable and certainly nothing that either of them would voice, but when the word _intimacy_ popped into Izaya’s head, he nearly scowled at the mere though— _how disgusting, how utterly, absolutely disgusting!!_ —and chose instead to ignore it. He left it in the deepest crevices of his mind and distracted himself with the man between his legs, fucking him like nothing else in the world, at that moment, mattered.

When his back arched, his chest was pressed to Shizuo's.

And on the fiftieth time--he counted, he was good at counting--neither of them broke the contact too soon.

**_iv. his moan._ **

Izaya's lip was riddled with bite marks from attempts to suppress any sounds of pleasure. Grunts and the sound of flesh against flesh were all that filled the space of Shizuo's small apartment. But on the eighty-first time, Izaya didn't bite down on his lip. His back arched and a low moan sounded from his throat as nails dug into Shizuo's back, as if wanting to dull his pleasure with pain--he was always rather selfish--and Shizuo didn't say anything.

It started out a low moan but became guttural; once the first sounded, the second and third slipped from beneath his flush, swollen lips. It heightened his pleasure and he was greedy for it; he moaned, he groaned, he hissed. Vocal chords produced sounds that signified is pleasure, sounds to replace words that _god, yes, please._

Moans to break the silence.

Moans to cut the tension.

He found himself moaning again and again, letting them fall from his mouth that remained unkissed. Eighty-second, eighty-third, eighty-fourth; his moans were constant, his groans low, chest vibrating as he allowed sounds of pleasure to fill the silence. His body trembled, his fingers grasped, his back arched; slowly and slowly, Izaya’s physical being emanated every sign that it _felt so goddamn good_ and at some point, caring that Shizuo knew that completely vanished.

Or maybe he wanted him to know.

Pleasurable gasps mixed with Shizuo's name on the ninety-first time and though Shizuo never said anything, Izaya once saw the faintest of smirks upon dry lips.

**_v. the kiss._ **

It was almost memorable, Izaya thought. One hundred, over a course of five months, on the one hundredth occasion, Shizuo kissed him.

Izaya had been caught so off guard that he hadn't known what to do. It was while he had been pulling off his shirt. His upper body arched languidly as hands pulled the clothing over his head, and the moment it was discarded, Shizuo's lips were on his. He kissed him into the pillow, until his body lay flat against the mattress. He kissed him as he guided himself into Izaya, as hands supported slight thighs. He kissed him as if they cared for each other, Izaya thought, and that was why he was so breathless.

Shizuo's lips were just as dry, just as chapped as he thought, and the scent of smoke was just as strong as he imagined it to be. Shizuo kissed him every time onwards and Izaya never kissed back until the one hundred and seventh time, when he pressed his palms to Shizuo's strong jawline.

Mouths caressed each other and tongues ran across lips, against the back of their teeth, against the roof of their mouths. Teeth nibbled and Izaya found himself taking Shizuo's bottom lip between his and sucking gently, leaving it swollen. He kissed him in a way he never kissed anyone else and didn't wonder where this skill and finesse came from. Fingers curled, scratching lightly against his skin, and yet he didn’t sigh into it, didn’t give Shizuo the breath that he’d already taken away.

And Shizuo kissed back; if Izaya's kisses were soft and romantic, Shizuo's were passionate and violent, but in the best way possible and in the way Izaya liked.

The first time they both smiled into the kiss, even if fleeting, was on the hundred-and-twenty-first time.

**_vi. sweet looks._ **

Izaya had been used to keeping his eyes closed, but he gradually found himself keeping them open. And over time, the expression that he was looking at softened, from cold, emotionless looks to kind, soft gazes that took away Izaya's breath more than pleasure did.

Shizuo’s eyes were gentle and warm; Izaya had seen him cast those sorts of look before, mainly to his brother, to Celty, to Akane, to Varona, to Tom, to the stray puppies he’d find on the way home. Shizuo’s eyes radiated kindness that most people of the city didn’t know him to have. They were soft and _so disgustingly kind_ that Izaya had turned his nose up and sneered.

(but maybe it was because he never thought _he’d_ receive that look.)

Shizuo looked at him in a way Izaya never thought he could, a way Izaya wasn’t sure he could reciprocate.

Not if he wanted to:

Just if he _could._

'Kiss me' became a phrase that was uttered quietly in broken syllables and it was a command that was always obeyed. Izaya had memorized the routine of letting his eyes close as Shizuo kissed him, and those kisses even became softer along with his gaze. Half lidded looks became common, as did letting lust show on their expressions. Eyes fluttered closed, brows creased, teeth bit on lips, all things that used to be hidden with a pillow or with bowed heads, bangs concealing.

And when Izaya's back arched, Shizuo's arm would slip under and hold their bodies close as he continued to thrust into him, kisses pressed to his jaw, neck, ear, shoulder. Izaya had memorized the way Shizuo's brow would furrow as pleasure grew intense and became addicted to him, his kisses, his body.

He lost count of when this started a long time ago.

**_vii. teasing._ **

It took nearly seven months, but Izaya finally had pleasure that was toe curling before his climax, coming in the form of teasing. Shizuo would dare to smirk as he did so, fucking him slowly, watching how Izaya writhed and trembled, unused to have to wait for the pleasure he wanted. He’d murmur _like that?_ in his baritone voice, sending chills up and down Izaya’s spine. His hips would move _so tantalizingly slowly_ and then alternate to _so fucking fast and hard_ and Izaya honestly couldn’t say which he preferred.

His lips trembled into the kiss and hands dug nails into Shizuo's flesh, heels of his feet urged Shizuo closer and his body begged in every way possible except for verbal words. He refused to, he’d thought, no matter how desperate he was, he couldn’t possibly imagine that he’d actually voice it.

_"Beg."_

The way Shizuo murmured the word had Izaya's breath hitching and he moaned quietly, breath the only thing that left his mouth, hoping that his moan would be enough. Kisses were left everywhere except his mouth, the closest being the corner, and it drove Izaya crazy. Shizuo was good, he thought numbly, Heiwajima Shizuo knew how to drive Orihara Izaya crazy.

What a bother.

_"P...”_

Izaya swallowed his throat, mind too far gone in pleasure, guard too let down to remember who he was and what he thought.

_“P… p-please..."_

Izaya murmured the word in bits and pieces, feeling resolve fall away, caught by a web of pleasure that commenced afterwards. Having to beg his enemy was degrading, but Izaya realized he had long stopped considering Shizuo his enemy when they were in bed, on his mattress and single sheet.

But, he thought, if Shizuo wasn't his enemy, what was he?

**_viii. being held._ **

As they were usually in Shizuo's apartment, Izaya usually slipped out. After the seventeenth time, Shizuo stopped commanding Izaya to leave. After the eighty-eighth time, Izaya stopped leaving immediately. But nearly ten months had passed before Izaya let himself wake up with Shizuo, instead of before and slipping out of his apartment stealthily, even before the sun cracked the horizon.

Shizuo’s blinds were slightly bent, so Izaya woke up with the sun’s brilliant cast upon his pale cheeks. His apartment was stuffy, the smell of sex lingering. His neighbors were loud; he heard muffled yells and doors slamming, but gave a sigh.

Shizuo had been surprised the first time, as had Izaya. He couldn't help but wake up, lay next to him until Shizuo's eyes flickered open as well. The fact that he had seen so many times was finally viewed without throes of pleasure blurring his vision, and Izaya could see how peaceful he looked. Lips that constantly kissed Izaya were parted and still slightly swollen, fair skin marked with red and welts.

When the blond opened his mouth, but nothing came out, Izaya smirked.

 _"What,"_ he had muttered, _"you're not going to hold me?"_

He always said it out of jest, and Shizuo scoffed every time. But a month later, his words were taken seriously and a strong arm was draped over Izaya's waist, the same arms that pulled Izaya closer to him. Izaya was surprised to be held by him, but he didn't pull away--technically, he had asked for it--and relaxed into Shizuo.

He heard the ticking of the clock three minutes fast.

He heard one of the neighbors leave for work.

He heard, if he was very quiet and very still, Shizuo’s heartbeat.

_"Does Shizu-chan care about me?"_

He never answered and Izaya never thought he would.

But, without answering, Shizuo never said _'no.'_

**_ix. his apartment._ **

One and a quarter years later, fifteen months, Shizuo found himself in Izaya's apartment. He hadn't said anything except 'no' when Shizuo began pulling him towards his. Questions, angrily asked, were ignored, even on the train to Shinjuku. People look, oh they definitely looked, but Izaya ignored them and Shizuo just kept asking.

It didn’t matter.

Not anymore.

Not really.

It was modern, with stainless steel furniture and glass as walls, a few places on the floor that showed the stones beneath--some kind of fancy aesthetic Shizuo found pointless. It reminded him of Izaya; simple and well-furnished on the outside, but rather empty and cold on the inside. It made Shizuo shiver. It made Shizuo frown.

It made Shizuo sad.

But being invited to his apartment, being allowed to go onto his bed, Shizuo knew, was the highest level of trust Izaya could offer someone. Izaya had several apartments but Shizuo had never been to this one and Orihara Izaya didn’t let any information about him slip that he didn’t want others to know. Shizuo knew that.

His address.

His home.

His key.

Shizuo left two months later with a key pressed to his palm, a smirk on Izaya's face.

_"Come whenever you'd like, Shizu-chan."_

**_x. falling in love._ **

In the ninth grade, Izaya remembered dissecting a frog.

Its insides were colorful and there was a heavy smell of pickles in the biology classroom. He had no problem taking a scalpel to the frog after pinning down its limbs. While most pairs had issues deciding who would perform the gruesome act of dissection, Izaya had to wrestle the scalpel away from Shinra, knowing that the frog would be in pieces before any of the questions of the packet were answered.

But the raven took his time in taking it apart, diligently working, being precise. He dissected the frog in high school and he now dissected his relationship with Shizuo.

He hated him and their nightly rendezvous became something more than sex. Izaya's body trembled for far longer than the first few months and he didn't want to acknowledge why; he let down his guard around Shizuo as the other did as well, and their let their bodies melt together instead of staying frozen and staying apart.

It was abhorrent, he thought. This was _Heiwajima Shizuo_ this was _a monster._ This was the man he hated, the man who hated him. This was someone who wasn’t a _person,_ someone who Izaya _didn’t love._

(or did he?)

Waking up with him, kissing him, being held were things Izaya hated to admit he was beginning to become dependent on, craved it to fill the hollow between his ribs in his chest. It made him feel safe and safety was something that came by rarely for Orihara Izaya, the man whose head at least half the city wanted. And it was ironic, he could almost laugh, that the one place he felt safe was the one man who, probably, hated him more than anyone else.

(was it still hate?)

Something had changed, something had happened. Something shifted, the way tectonic plates, something moved, the way the moon, something became apparent.

Something aberrant had possibly become more so.

(was it still hate?)

And he never said it, and Shizuo never did either, but they murmured silently it when they woke up in the morning, the moment right before Shizuo pulled Izaya closer to him and they drifted into unconsciousness, hiding from the world before they'd return to their reputations. They murmured it without words, understood each other’s silences because sometimes it took polar opposites to understand things that couldn’t be voiced.

(was it still hate?)

One and a half years, eighteen months seemed to flip four years of high school, yet only at night, only in private, only fleetingly. While Shizuo kissed roughly and Izaya gently, their roles reversed at times and Izaya kissed him passionately and Shizuo kissed him softly.

(was it still hate?)

The pads of Izaya's fingers traced Shizuo's jaw, before fingers rested against the nape of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He never thought that what started as pants being pulled on after being thrown onto a mattress would turn into kisses before being undressed and having fingers run across his body gently, the scent of Shizuo lingering on his body and Izaya indulging in it. He shivered even when clothed from just a kiss, stopping only when Shizuo pulled him closer, until their bodies pressed together. He felt rhythms of heartbeat, the touch of Shizuo’s skin, the comfort he thought he couldn’t even dream about.

(no, no it wasn’t.)

Izaya didn't need to hear it; he didn't need words to reassure him of how and what he felt. He could see it in Shizuo's eyes and knew it reflected in his own, the way he smiled for a moment before he smirked, murmured 'ready?' and received Shizuo's smirk in response.

_I've fallen in love with you._

**Author's Note:**

> a reupload of a fic from tumblr that I personally really like, with some minor fixes. thank you for reading! kudos/comments are appreciated immensely, as always!


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